


haunted by the ghost of you

by yeeharley



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Bisexual Peter Parker, Cute, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gay Harley Keener, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Harley Keener, Tumblr Prompt, prompt collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:48:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26773159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeeharley/pseuds/yeeharley
Summary: “Look, man,” he says, holding the bowl out. “I just ran out of candy.”The boy looks up, eyes wide, and grimaces at the sight of the empty bowl. He’s got a little black button drawn onto his nose with black eyeliner (kind of weird, but okay) and a pair of dark brown eyes that shine in the golden light of Harley’s front porch.“Oh,” Teddy Bear Boy says, sighing tiredly. “Yeah, okay. Don’t worry about it.”He turns to leave, and Harley knows that he shouldn’t ask, should just let him walk away like a normal human being, but he has questions that need to be answered. Anyways, Harley’s never been very good at keeping his mouth shut.“Aren’t you a little too old to be trick-or-treatin’?” He asks snidely, leaning against the doorframe. “And isn’t it a bit late?”(A collection of all of my parkner autumn prompts, taken straight from my tumblr.)
Relationships: Harley Keener & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker/Harley Keener, Tony Stark/Pepper Potts
Comments: 11
Kudos: 113





	1. I'm out of candy, but you can stay the night

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter was written for [lyssismagical](https://lyssismagical.tumblr.com/) (Magicalyss)!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr at [silver-bubbles](www.silver-bubbles.tumblr.com) or send me autumn prompts! I'm always happy to write them <3

There’s someone standing on Harley’s front porch.

There’s someone standing on Harley’s front porch in a teddy-bear costume covered in fuzzy brown fabric.

There’s a teenaged boy standing on Harley’s front porch in a teddy-bear costume covered in fuzzy brown fabric. 

It is eleven o’clock at night.

“What the hell,” he mutters to himself, peering through the peephole as the boy shifts back and forth from one foot to the other, looking around awkwardly before ringing his doorbell for the third time. There’s a bright purple pumpkin made of plastic clutched between his gloved hands, and even from here, Harley can see that it’s halfway full of candy.

He’s got to be sixteen or seventeen. 

“What the hell.” Harley takes a deep breath, steels himself against the fact that he’s about to talk to a teenager in a bear costume, and opens the door with his empty candy bowl in one hand.

“Look, man,” he says, holding the bowl out. “I just ran out of candy.”

The boy looks up, eyes wide, and grimaces at the sight of the empty bowl. He’s got a little black button drawn onto his nose with black eyeliner (kind of weird, but okay) and a pair of dark brown eyes that shine in the golden light of Harley’s front porch.

“Oh,” Teddy Bear Boy says, sighing tiredly. “Yeah, okay. Don’t worry about it.”

He turns to leave, and Harley knows that he shouldn’t ask, should just let him walk away like a normal human being, but he has questions that need to be answered. Anyways, Harley’s never been very good at keeping his mouth shut.

“Aren’t you a little too old to be trick-or-treatin’?” He asks snidely, leaning against the doorframe. “And isn’t it a bit late?”

If the way that Teddy Bear Boy’s shoulders sag as he turns around is any indication, he’s been asked this question way too many times to be tolerable. His eyes are shiny in the low light- he looks really tired, Harley realizes with a jolt. Is he swaying?

“My sister’s sick,” Teddy Bear Boy mutters, slinging the bucket of candy over his shoulder. “She loves Halloween and I really wanted to make her happy.”

Ah. Great.

Now Harley feels bad.

He loves guilt.

“I’ve been doing this since six. She told me to fill it up,” he says with a helpless shrug. “But most people don’t want to give a teenager candy, and they look at me like I”m all weird, so.”

Harley grimaces, pushing off of the doorframe, and places the bowl on the entry hall table before stepping out onto the path and taking Teddy Bear Boy by his shoulder. He looks up, eyes wide and confused.

“You look tired,” Harley murmurs, gently reaching down to take the bucket. “Come on. You can give that to her in the morning.”

He half expects the boy to pull away and leave, because sure, it’s kind of weird to invite a random stranger into your house on Halloween night. He doesn’t, though, following him into his house and standing awkwardly next to the front door in that godawful costume.

“I’m Harley,” Harley says, setting the bucket down next to the empty bowl. 

“Peter.”

He looks like a Peter. Harley smiles and reaches out a hand, guiding Peter into the living room and gesturing toward the couch.

“You got any clothes to change into?” He asks, flipping the television on and scrolling through channels until he finds the horror movie marathon he’s been looking forward to all night. “You can borrow some of mine if you want.”

Peter blushes and shakes his head, looking down at his intertwined hands. “I- uh, can I?”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I was just gonna refuse,” Harley laughs. He darts into his room, digs through a few drawers, and comes back with a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that look like they’ll fit.

“You can change in the bathroom.” He points in its direction, smiling as supportively as he possibly can.

Peter thanks him, takes the bundle of clothes, and disappears.

Harley waits on the couch until he comes back. The first movie on is Scream, which he’s pretty sure is supposed to be good, but so far, he’s not exactly captivated. The majority of his attention is on Peter, who seems to be an absolute enigma of a human being.

Peter comes back after a few minutes.

Harley has to try very hard not to stare, because he looks really different in normal clothing than he had in an oversized onesie. For one, his hair is visible- curly and brown with reddish highlights, almost the exact color of his eyes. 

He’s washed off the eyeliner, too, and the tighter-fitting clothes (the pants pile up a little around his ankles) reveal a more athletic figure than Harley had been expecting.

He’s cute.

Oh, God.

“Hey,” Harley says, clearing his voice as much as he can to avoid suspicion. “Uh.”

“Hi.” Peter looks just as nervous as he does. He sets down a bundle of fuzzy fabric, then points at the cushion beside Harley.

“You mind if I sit?”

Blink. “No, of course not.” He gestures widely, almost smacking a pillow off of its perch. “Uh. Go ahead.”

“Thanks,” Peter says- oh, he’s blushing, he’s blushing, he’s blushing!

He sits down a few inches away from Harley, hands crossed in his lap, and leans back stiffly against the pillows with his eyes fixed on the television. Harley tries not to stare, but he can’t really help it. He’s never been good at hiding his emotions, and this is like the boss level in videogames.

It happens about thirty minutes into the movie, when the first jumpscare pops up. Peter twitches nervously and moves just a little bit closer to Harley, inching over with every scare for the next few minutes until they’re almost touching.

Harley watches, captivated, as Peter closes the gap so that their thighs are touching ever-so-slightly. He feels like he’s about to implode into himself; what is he supposed to do? Is there an appropriate reaction for this? A guidebook? Help?

This seems an awful lot like flirting.

It’s an impulsive decision, but Harley doesn’t find himself regretting it. He leans back, reaching over Peter’s head in the guise of stretching, and settles his arm on the back of the couch. 

Curls brush against the bare skin of his neck as Peter leans into Harley’s side, resting his head on his shoulder. He can feel his heartbeat, feather-light and quick, as he slowly drops his arm from the couch to Peter’s back and settles his hand on his side, breathing deep when he isn’t pushed away.

“What’s your last name?” Harley whispers, too afraid to tear his eyes away from the screen.

The answer comes quietly, tentatively, nervously. 

“I’m Peter Parker. You’re…?”

“Keener.” He smiles, looks down. “Harley Keener.”


	2. so I scared your little sister, but- oh, that was a kiss?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written for [shadedrose01](https://shadedrose01.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> As usual, my tumblr is [silver-bubbles](silver-bubbles.tumblr.com) and I'm accepting Halloween prompts for parkner! Feel free to send 'em in!

So, contrary to popular belief, Harley definitely hadn’t meant to make the kid cry. 

And, in the end, can he really be blamed for scaring her so badly that she’d burst into tears the minute she’d seen him? Absolutely not.

He should be the one receiving an apology for the black eye her (very cute) older brother had given him.

That’s right. He’s the victim here. Suck it up, crying child, Harley’s the only one who’s actually been wronged.

Children are too fragile nowadays, anyway. They simply don’t know how to take a good joke. Harley had been the butt of more cruel pranks than he could count (being the only out gay kid in a conservative southern town will do that to you) and he had turned out fine, right?

(Maybe not. Almost definitely not, actually, considering his plethora of mental health issues and traumatic experiences. But still, the kid is going to be fine! Whenever she stops crying.)

Halloween, he thinks, is pretty much the national holiday for mean-spirited pranks. And eating so much candy your stomach hurts, but definitely pranks more than that. 

Harley’s been pranking Abby for longer than he can remember, ever since he’d been old enough to watch the horror movies that she so vehemently despised. She tells him to quit every time, but he knows she secretly likes it. Who wouldn’t?

Morgan Stark, apparently, but whatever.

So when Harley had been invited to come visit Tony Stark (that’s right, the Tony Stark) for the holiday season because his mother had been having a hard time financially (taking care of two kids while working a nine-to-five at the local grocery store isn’t anything to scoff at, of course) he had immediately started wondering who he was going to mess around with.

These are just the things he thinks about.

Everyone has different priorities.

Tony comes to pick him up at the airport with Peter Parker, his latest intern and apparent genius (and incredibly handsome, look at those muscles, dear God) and his daughter, Morgan. She takes a liking to him pretty quickly- he’s just a likable person- and so does Peter, even if he tries to hide it.

Harley knows Peter likes his accent. He makes it a point to say ‘ya’ll’ as often as he possibly can and relishes at the way Peter smiles.

Yes, he likes Peter’s little accent, too. Irrelevant.

But he’s starting to wonder if Peter is ever going to want to talk to him again, and the shiner on his left eye says all signs point to no. He hadn’t known Morgan would be with him! He definitely hadn’t known Peter would get so scared! And he had no idea that Peter could punch so damn hard.

“Oh, my God,” Peter gasps, slamming his hand over his mouth with one of the most horrifying expressions Harley’s ever seen a human being make. “Oh, my God.”

Morgan, sitting on the carpeted floor of the tower’s living room, wails for the third time in as many seconds. She sounds like a dying cat. Honestly, someone needs to toughen up a bit.

He doesn’t mean it, he’s just really sore (emotionally and physically).

Harley braces himself against the wall and reaches up to prod at his eye, brow furrowed so hard that he’d be unsurprised if his eyebrows were touching. There’s a dull ache in the bones around his eye- his cheekbone, all that shit, he didn’t take anatomy- and he’s starting to wonder if coming here was a mistake.

“Ouch,” he mutters, dumbfounded. “O-wie.”

“Oh, my God.”

“Nope, just me.” Harley pokes his eyebrow and hisses as a spear of pain shoots through his head. “Strong right hook, sunshine. I’m impressed.”

It’s the first time Peter hasn’t blushed when Harley’s called him a nickname. His stomach drops; that matters more to him than it probably should.

Morgan sobs again, a guttural, heart-wrenching sound. Harley winces; maybe three years old is a bit too early for Halloween pranks. 

He’s so glad Tony and Pepper are out watching a horror movie marathon right now and not in the tower, because they’d rip him a new one if they knew.

Peter looks like he’s going to cry.

“I’m so sorry,” he yelps, quickly stepping around Morgan and grabbing Harley by the shoulders. Warm hands burn through the fabric of his shirt, forcefully pulling him down to eye level. He places a gentle hand on the side of his face (oh, no, no, no) and Harley stands stock-still as feather-light fingers dance across his tender skin (no, no, no). Peter’s face is so close, so close, he could kiss him right now if he wanted to-

“We should probably check on her,” Harley says, pushing his very gay thoughts deep, deep into his head as he points down at Morgan bawling in her pumpkin costume.

Is it his imagination, or does Peter look a little bit disappointed? He can’t tell because he turns away and picks his sister (?) up, bouncing her in his arms like a parent as they dance around the living room.

Harley sits down on the couch and waits.

It takes a while to calm her down, but when she finally starts to breathe like a normal person and Peter’s able to change her into her pajamas and put her in her crib for bed, Harley starts to prepare for his inevitable death. 

Peter’s gotta be mad, right? Most people would be livid if some guy impeded on their family unit and scared the living shit out of their baby sister. Harley’s ready for a violent chewing-out, steeling himself for what’s to come, but when Peter walks back into the room, he doesn’t start screaming.

Instead, he sits down on the couch only a few inches away from Harley and presses something cold and soft to his sore eye- an icepack. 

Harley doesn’t move as Peter hums to himself, eyes fixed on his work. He can feel the blood rushing to his face, can feel his cheeks steadily reddening, and he wants to, wants to, wants to-

“I want to kiss you,” He blurts out, barely in control of his mouth. Then, digging even deeper, “Can I?”

Peter’s eyes go wide. The icepack drops from his hands and he stands, shifting to face Harley fully. Harley looks up at him, sure he’s ruined everything, sure he’s going to be angry and he’s going to lose one of his only friends.

Without even a second of warning, Peter leans down and, swiftly planting his hand in the center of Harley’s chest, pushes him back onto the couch cushions before climbing onto the couch in front of him and slamming his lips onto Harley’s. 

Oh.

Harley leans back as Peter leans forward, arms snaking around his waist and meeting at the small of his back to hold him close. Peter’s lips move against his once, twice, three times. He pulls away. Looks at Harley through curious, half-lidded eyes before leaning in again and smirking- smirking- against his lips.

There are hands in his hair, twisting into his curls, and Harley’s leaning forward eagerly, one hand meeting a warm strip of skin just under Peter’s Spider-Man t-shirt, and he takes a deep, deep breath of lavender laundry sheets and fall air and-

A loud wail rings out through the penthouse.

Peter groans, still pressed up against Harley’s chest, before pulling away and hauling himself to his feet. 

“I’ve gotta go take care of her,” he mutters, chucking the icepack at Harley, who catches it easily and presses it against his eye. “Be back in a second, okay?”

“Yeah,” Harley breathes. “Yeah, alright.”

Peter smirks. Pecks him on the cheek. Turns to walk away.

“Wait for me.”

He will.


	3. are you going to catch me like a damsel in distress when I fall out of this tree?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for [parknerandirondad](www.parknerandirondad.tumblr.com) over on tumblr!
> 
> My tumblr: [silver-bubbles](www.silver-bubbles.tumblr.com)

Isn’t it a major Halloween faux pas to follow the sound of extremely loud, shrill, terrifying screaming and find out what it is?

That feels like a bad idea. It feels like the moment a clown jumps out of the bushes and chops your head out. It feels like Harley is about to die a bloody and horrible death.

But it also feels like he really wants to know who’s making that awful noise, so. Onwards and upwards.

Armed with a baseball bat from his little league days and an amount of trepidation that could kill a horse, Harley creeps out of his apartment and closes the door behind him as quietly as he can. The screaming is quieter, further in between (which probably isn’t great).

The sound of a dog barking has joined it.

Don’t the Robertsons have a dog? A german shepard?

Yeah, they do.

Is the Robertsons’ dog mauling somebody to death?

Maybe, Harley thinks, creeping along the boundary of bushes between his house and his neighbors’, baseball bat still slung over his shoulder and gripped between white knuckles.

He would rather not have to hit a dog. He’s always liked them, but if someone is being actively attacked, he’s probably going to have to.

Abby would kill him if she found out.

She’ll have to never find out.

There aren’t many trick-or-treaters out anymore, which is probably a good thing considering the amount of attention screaming on Halloween would draw.

Harley crosses the yard, bare feet crunching against short-cropped grass, and makes his way around the driveway. The barking is louder now, more frequent.

And there it is.

Yeah, it’s the Robertsons’ german shepherd (Gertrude, he thinks, but it could also be Giselle or something else that starts with a ‘g’. Probably Gertrude). 

“What’ve you got?” Harley shouts, breaking into a light jog as Gertrude comes into view. She’s barking up the side of a tree, one paw set against its trunk, jaws moving quickly to reveal really sharp teeth (dear God, that’s terrifying). 

There’s another shout from the canopy of the tree. Then, “Hey, would you mind helping us get down?”

A boy’s voice, lower than that of the screams. So there are… two people in the tree? 

Okay. Okay, he can deal with this.

Harley reaches down to grab Gertrude by the collar and pulls her back, gritting his teeth as she tries to move closer. She’s big, strong, but not as strong as him. He’s able to pull her back to the house and attatch her leash (she must’ve gotten off of it) to the doorknob before turning back and peering up at the top of the tree.

Just as he’d guessed, there are two people clinging to the slim branches. One is a little girl in a Spider-Man costume- sans mask- with teary eyes and a bag of candy clutched between her little fists.

The other is a boy who looks to be around Harley’s age. He’s not dressed in a costume, just a pair of jeans and a gray t-shirt, and his curly hair droops down around his eyes as he peers down at Harley with a nervous grin on his face. 

“Uh- hey,” The boy says, freeing up one of his hands to wave. “Can you help us out?”

The little girl chokes out another sob, gripping the boy- her brother, maybe- like he’s her only lifeline.

“Yeah, I got you.” Harley drops the bat to the dewy grass, shaking his hands out before stretching his arms up above his head. He can reach just shy of the girl’s feet, but it’s high enough for the boy to lower her into his grip. 

The minute she can, she wraps her arms around Harley’s neck and attatches herself to him like a little monkey. He chuckles and bends down so her feet, clad in light-up sneakers, can reach the ground.

“I’ve gotta get your brother down now, okay?” He says gently, before nodding at her bag of candy. “Eat some of that while I help ‘im.”

She nods eagerly and digs into the bag with relish, fear clearly forgotten. “Thanks, mister.”

Main problem taken care of, Harley turns back to the boy in the tree and tilts his head, trying to figure out how in the world he’s supposed to do this. He can’t weigh that much if the branches can hold him, which is good, but he’s still just a little bit too far above Harley’s head for this to be easy. 

“What’s your name?” Harley calls up, neck craning uncomfortably.

The boy blinks, bites his lip. “Peter Parker. That’s Morgan.”

Sounds familiar, but he can’t seem to place it. 

“Alright, Peter.” God, this is hard. “Uh- can you come down a little so I can reach you?”

Peter grits his teeth, shakes his head. “I, uh, don’t think so?”

“You’re stuck?”

“In a way.” He shrugs before reaching up to grip the branch above his head. 

“Think you could jump?” Harley asks, spreading his arms wide like he’s about to catch something. “I won’t drop you if you do.”

From the way Peter’s face pales, he’s not exactly fond of that idea. Nontheless, he swallows convulsively and nods, staring down at Harley like he’s his saving grace. 

There’s a nasty scrape on the side of his face. It’s dripping blood into his eyebrow. Looks painful.

“Alright,” Harley says quietly, carefully. “Go ahead and jump. I’ll catch you- promise.”

He sees the minute Peter’s legs tense. He swings out, eyes clenched shut, and drops neatly from the treetop into Harley’s arms (he really doesn’t weigh that much, so it isn’t terribly difficult).

There’s a pair of arms around his neck and a pair of eyes fixed on his, glimmering with something akin to surprise. Harley stares, dumbfounded, as Peter tilts his head slightly to one side and makes absolutely no effort to get down.

He’s awfully cute. 

Even with the steady trail of blood making its way down to his eyelid.

“You’re bleeding,” Harley mutters. 

“Scraped my face on the tree when I was trying to get her up.”

Absently, he reaches up to brush his thumb over Peter’s eyebrow, wincing as the boy hisses and blinks rapidly. “You alright?”

He shrugs, eyes fixed on the red that stains Harley’s finger. “I think so.”

Harley stands there, still holding Peter securely in his arms, transfixed by the pink color of his lips, until there’s a quiet cough and a hand tugging at his pants.

“You got candy at your house, mister?” Morgan asks impatiently, staring up at him and showing off the little spider insignia painted onto her right cheek. “You gonna put Petey down?”

Harley chokes out a strangled laugh and sets down Peter as quickly as he can, leaning down to pick up his baseball bat. Peter brushes himself off, cheeks faintly pink, before turning to look down at Morgan.

“He’s done enough, Morg,” he says gently. “I think it’s time we go ahead-”

“Yeah, I’ve got candy,” Harley says. Smiles and jerks his head at his own house. “And first-aid supplies. You shouldn’t walk back with your head bleeding like that.”

If it’s possible, Peter’s face seems to get even redder. “I couldn’t impose on you like that-”

“It’s not an imposition if I invite you.”

Morgan laughs, high and clear, before attatching herself firmly to Harley’s leg and looking imploringly up at Peter. “He’s got candy!”

It’s obvious that he can’t say no to her; Harley recognizes that- he’d felt the same way about Abby when she’d still lived with him. Peter nods slowly, the corner of his lips curling up, before he reaches down and slips his hand into Harley’s.

Oh.

_Oh._

_Oooooooh, okay._

Harley leads the siblings (maybe?) back to his house, head turned away from Peter to hide his smile, before depositing his bat beside the front door and leading Morgan to the stash of candy under his kitchen sink. She happily starts to fill her bag, stuffing handfuls of candy into her pockets and under the neck of her suit.

He loves kids. God, he loves them.

When Morgan’s happily occupied, Harley sits Peter down at the counter before pulling his first ait kit out and digging through it for butterfly bandages, alcohol, and cotton pads. He perches on one of the stools a foot or so away, leaning in slowly and dabbing at the cut as gently as he possibly can. 

Peter still hisses and grits his teeth, but he doesn’t move, allowing Harley to finish his work and tape the bandages over the cut, holding it closed. The bleeding has pretty much stopped at this point, only a slow drip of red, and Harley leans back with a satisfied hum.

“Thanks,” Peter murmurs, reaching up to poke at his forehead. “I appreciate all your help.”

“No problem,” Harley says. He packs up the kit, closes it, and pushes it aside.

He does impulsive, possibly stupid things all the time.

This might be one of the most impulsive and stupid of them all.

He grabs a pen off of the counter, pulls a napkin out of the nearest drawer, and scribbles down his number before pressing it into Peter’s hand.

“Text me when you get back to wherever you’re supposed to be goin’,” he says with a smile. “So I know you got back safe.”

Peter nods and grins back at him, folding the napkin into fourths and shoving it into his pocket.

“Thanks.”

Thirty minutes after they’ve left, Harley’s phone vibrates twice in his jacket pocket. His stomach erupts into butterflies as he pulls it out and reads through the messages, eyes wide, a warm feeling growing in his chest.

_hey it’s peter? we got back safe so_

_also i was wondering if you’d maybe want to get coffee with me sometime? totally fine if you don’t but i figured i might as well pay you back_

Harley blinks, biting his lip. He feels like a lovesick teenager about to go on his first date- is that a date? That could totally be a date, right?

**_Yeah, I’d really like that. You free Saturday?_ **

_absolutely._


	4. so I look really good in red lipstick and heels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for [peachy-keener](www.peachy-keener.tumblr.com)!
> 
> My tumblr: [silver-bubbles](www.silver-bubbles.tumblr.com)

Who had made the decision to put Oscorp and Stark Tower so close to each other?

No, Harley honestly wants to know, because he has an undying urge to beat the living shit out of whoever decided to build two very large, very identical towers right next to each other. Was it a contractor? An engineer? Tony Stark himself?

He doesn’t care. He would kick Tony Stark for this. He would kick an engineer for this. He would kick a contractor for this, dammit, because this is not what he had signed up for.

He’s winding up to kick himself.

Harry (yes, Harry Osborn, whatever) had invited him to one of his famous Halloween parties and he had really wanted to go. He’d put the most effort into his costume- yes, he’s dressed as Spider-Man, and he knows it’s cheesy, but he worked so hard to make it look accurate and the measurements are flawless. He looks like the real deal and he knows it.

Harley had texted Harry (or who he’d thought was Harry) to get the address, because he really hates using Google Maps and isn’t it just easier to get it from the person who actually lives there? He had definitely thought so.

But, in true Harley Keener fashion, he hadn’t saved his contacts properly. He had just opened up the first conversation in his messages and texted a simple where’s the party without a second thought about maybe- just maybe- having texted the wrong person.

He’d forgotten that he’d just asked Tony about replacing the tower’s dated toaster. An honest mistake.

But now, instead of hanging out with Harry and Gwen, he’s standing in a room full of the Avengers with no idea as to how he got here and he’s feeling very tempted to jump out of the nearest window.

“Oh, my God,” Harley whispers when he sees Steve Rogers (Steve Rogers oh my god) in a schlocky-looking vampire costume and Black Widow (hngggggg) in the Wonder Woman skirt, top, and boots.

“Kid!” Tony shouts from across the room, waving happily. He’s wearing a blond wig. Pepper, beside him, has a fake goatee drawn onto her chin in eyeliner.

They’re dressed up as each other.

Oh, God.

Harley waves back, grimacing like he’s about to pass out, and makes his way over to lean against the nearest wall to try and get his bearings. There’s just too much going on in one room right now, and he doesn’t know how to handle it at all. How is he supposed to deal with this? 

Why couldn’t he have just texted Harry? 

He really needs to organize his contacts.

He stands there for a minute or two in silence, massaging his temples, trying to get his head to stop spinning. He is not going to pass out at the Avengers’ private halloween party. He’s not going to do it. Nope. Nope.

“I would say one of us is going to have to change, but I think my costume is definitely superior, so I guess you don’t have to go to the effort.”

Harley turns, surprised, and almost faints.

Peter Parker- who, it’s important to note, is Spider-Man- is (you guessed it) dressed up in a Spider-Man costume. 

A women’s’ Spider-Man costume.

One of those overly-sexualized women’s’ Spider-Man costumes that drops to about halfway down his thigh and has a pair of very thin straps as sleeves that show off his shoulders and biceps.

Is that a plunging neckline?

Peter smugly looks Harley up and down, crossing one knee over the other with an annoying amount of grace. He’s wearing a pair of open-toed four-inch heels that look like something Pepper would wear to an event. His toenails are painted a shiny red, as are his fingernails.

“Are you- are you wearing makeup?” Harley gasps, pointing at- eyeshadow? He thinks it’s eyeshadow. And eyeliner (those are some huge eyeliner wings, wow).

Peter nods happily, running a hand through his slicked-back hair and pulling a tube of dark red lipstick out of a clutch purse. “This color is seriously gorgeous, Harley, it would look so good on you.”

“You- where did you even-” Harley is well aware of the fact that he’s stuttering, because yes, Peter is a stunning human being on a normal day and this is absolutely insane. He feels like he’s going to lose his entire mind.

“Party City!” Peter chirps before leaning back against the wall, matching Harley’s position, and gracefully lifting his knee. Extending his leg so that Harley has no choice but to stare at it, eyes wide, very obviously surprised.

“Uh-”

“And look at this! I shaved!” He points down at his leg. “You’ve gotta feel it, man, they’re so smooth. I’m gonna start doing it more often!”

Peter looks so excited, and who’s Harley kidding? He’s shaved his legs one time on a dare and, yeah, it’s nice. He bites his lip and, awkwardly averting his eyes, sets his hand down on top of Peter’s knee.

It’s pretty smooth. His skin is warm.

Oh, my God, you’re a disaster.

“Very- very smooth,” Harley chokes out, crossing his arms across his chest.

Peter’s quiet for a moment. He steps away from the wall to stand in front of him, face to face (these heels make him as tall as Harley oh no oh no), raising an eyebrow skeptically. Is his foot tapping? His foot is tapping. Oh no.

“Is something wrong, Harls?” Peter asks innocently, hands on his hips. He looks like a box in the dress, all muscle- not to say he doesn’t look good, of course. “You look kinda… red.”

Harley swallows, blinks, and shakes his head.

“Dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Are you sure? You’re not too hot or something?”

Peter Parker is an awful human being.

Peter Parker is an absolutely awful human being.

Peter Parker is a despicable monster of a human being and he is never going to be forgiven as long as he lives.

Harley takes a deep breath, musters up every little bit of resolve in his body, and pushes himself off of the wall to plant a quick kiss on Peter’s cherry red lips. He pulls back just as quickly, sure that his face is the same color as his mouth, and almost gasps when a pair of gentle hands find his face and, taking a step forward, Peter’s lips are on his.

He tastes like the apple cider they’re serving at the refreshments table.

Sweet and spicy and very, very warm.

Peter tilts his head to the left, smiling against Harley’s lips. One of his hands travels down to his clavicle. The other tilts Harley’s head in tandem, gentle gentle gentle, smooth nails scraping against his skin.

Harley places a hand on Peter’s waist and gently pulls back. He knows that, no matter how much he was blushing a moment ago, it can’t beat how red his face is now. Nonetheless, he’s smiling.

So is Peter.

“Your lipstick is smeared,” Harley murmurs, unable to break eye contact.

Peter giggles. “So is yours.”

He reaches down to take Harley’s hand, tugging him away from the party with an impish grin on his face.

“We should go fix that.”


End file.
